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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672857">A Mascot Riding On The Wind Horses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel'>Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happier Maul AUs [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternative Sexuality, Disability, F/M, Podfic Welcome, Sometimes you just gotta take a miserable character and make him feel some nice things okay, Touch-Starved, Trauma, Trauma Recovery, as a treat, writer can have a little self-indulgent Maul fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:48:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This may be the first scalp massage of his life, but he doesn't think that this is the feeling it's expected to cause.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darth Maul/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Happier Maul AUs [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2277782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>138</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>343</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from <i>Spring Grass</i> by Carl Sandburg</p><p>Sometimes you just gotta make some characters feel Good Things for once and the idea won't let go. So this is some fairly unpolished 'just want to get it out of my head' stuff.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Uhhh so this newly added chapter goes before the two I previously posted. That's gonna make the start of chapter 2 a little weird and repetitive, but we're just gonna have to live with that</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maul slowly paces the office of his latest target, keeping his unwavering stare on the man. Myfu Draiven. The kind of underworld scum that has positioned himself as royalty in his backwater community, a big fish in a tiny pond. A man who has been a little too certain of his own importance to Maul's cause. Today he'll learn that information held hostage leads to information forcibly extracted and the erstwhile negotiator finding himself without pulse. </p><p>"It's true that we can't read the books, but we don't need you for that. We just met the person who will do it for us," Maul says, enjoying the growing fear in his target's face.</p><p>"Niri? She'll never help you."</p><p>Maul is intrigued by the confidence in the man's voice. He's talking about the slave they just met, the woman who has kept his books for years and knows the cipher. She'd come in with the timid air of one who had long ago learned the safest way to exist. Her eyes down, her manner smooth and pleasing and self contained. Pretty, with a thick braid of golden curls down to her hips. Her attire was the gauzy fabric of a pleasure slave, and the way the man had pulled her close by her arm to speak to her—the way her body had suppressed a flinch—suggested that he certainly didn't hesitate to touch her. </p><p>He'd called her Niri. It means 'golden' in the language they speak on this dirtball. </p><p>She's the only one who can read the cipher, besides Draiven. In Maul's experience, slaves are loyal exactly as long as it's in their own benefit. Perhaps this one has been well kept, granted little freedoms and dignities. She'd looked clean and fed, at least. And if he hadn't felt her closely guarded revulsion in the force, Maul might have believed the smooth, pleasing 'happy to serve' attitude she projected. Perhaps that's what's causing this scumbag to so confidently say that there's no benefit to taking her. </p><p>Perhaps he's as deluded as every other slave owner. Maul'd put his credits on that one. </p><p>"How sure are you? Let's find out."</p><p>The Mandos stay with Draiven while Maul wanders off down the hall, and finds the spiral staircase that leads into the cool cellar. People live partially underground in this brutally hot climate, the cellar feels like a relief. </p><p>The underground is exactly as tastelessly opulent as Draiven's style had suggested, richly draped in expensive fabric, with fake pillars lining the round hallway. There's two fancy arches leading into gaudily decorated hallways, and one plain little door. He tries the latter. </p><p>The first room seems to be some kind of administrative workspace. There's a holopad that's still switched on and a hastily abandoned ledger. He suspects that the woman had been working there until she heard him come down the steps. Has Draiven put the fear of Maul into her or is this merely based on how he looks? That isn't usually a disadvantage, but if he's to convince her to help them...</p><p>He reaches out with the force and finds her in the last space down the short hallway. </p><p>It's… a bedroom, though that's being generous. There's a lock on the outside, and the walls and floor are bare hewn stone. There's a bed with blankets and a small open chest with possessions and not much else. To the back an alcove that might lead to a fresher. If there's some kind of preferential treatment here worthy of loyalty, Maul hasn't seen it yet. </p><p>She's back there, not breathing. </p><p>Maul enjoys inspiring fear in his enemies, but he doesn't care for it from bystanders, and certainly not from slaves. He pitches his voice low and calm. </p><p>"I know you're in here."</p><p>She does a credible job pretending that she just happened to be in the fresher, not hiding from him, even though he can practically sense her stomach clenching with fear.  </p><p>"Did… did my Master send you?" she asks quietly. </p><p>Maul thinks about the lock on the outside of the door and grimaces with distaste at the understanding of what she expects from a guest of her master coming down here.  </p><p>"No." </p><p>He'd expected that to be reassuring, but it's the opposite. Her breath hitches. They're off script and she has no idea what he wants. He can feel an achy buzz in his temples from the panic rolling off of her.  When he steps deeper into the space she seems to instinctively take the opening and darts toward the door. </p><p>It's no effort at all to arrest her momentum with the force and then use it to pin her front against a wall, keeping her there with her cheek against the rough stone as he approaches. </p><p>Her wild panting tightens into something fast and flat when he leans against the wall next to her, deliberately not touching her but in her line of sight. He's barely keeping her there with the force now, she's just too frozen to move. </p><p>"Your... <em>master</em>, up there," he says with a sneer at the title, "sounds very sure that you'll stay loyal to him and not help us translate his books."</p><p>Her eyes widen in surprise.</p><p>"Haven't seen anything that would explain his confidence, really."</p><p>She blinks at him mutely, and Maul accepts that he's not going to get anything out of her. He had hoped to convince her, but it doesn't look like that's an option. </p><p>"Draiven's not going to survive this. You could." He has no intention of killing her unless she makes it necessary, but she doesn't need to know that right now. He really does need her help for translating the ledgers. </p><p>He can sense her anxious calculation. Staying loyal to a losing party can easily be a death sentence. But showing yourself a disloyal slave can be just as dangerous; not much value to those, for a prospective new owner. </p><p>Suspecting that an answer might not come, Maul doesn't wait her out. They don't have time for this. </p><p>"Either way, you're coming with me," he says, wrapping his hand around her bare bicep and steering her toward the door. There's a sort of relief to her, as if not having to make a decision is the better option here. He summons the small box with personal things and pushes it into her arms. She moves stiffly, her limbs tight with fear, but he gets her up the spiral steps. </p><p>It's tempting to parade her in front of Draiven, make clear that they are going to be reading his books one way or another. The Mandos are carrying thick stacks of ledgers out to the ship. A nice note for the man to die on. </p><p>The woman is walking along quietly, eyes on the floor. Shut down. It might feel like the safest option right now to passively undergo what is happening, to not be made to make decisions. The simpler he makes this on her, the more likely she can be convinced to assist. That means not confronting her with her master. </p><p>He walks her to the ship just outside and lightly pushes her toward a crate in the cargo bay with a quiet "Sit." Then a Mando calls for his attention and he almost immediately forgets about her. They are blowing up the mansion with Draiven inside. The Mandos know their shit. They've made sure to get down into the far corners of the underground spaces so there'll be nothing left. </p><p>Once everybody is back aboard they take off, and Maul is in the cockpit while they hoover and observe the explosion. Then he stays for a while to discuss their find and their course of action from here. It's only when somebody expresses hope that their new guest can supply the translations they need that he remembers he left her back there a while ago. He should probably go check on her. </p><p>She's where he left her, which is unsurprising, but she's exactly where and how he left her, surrounded by the Mandos, who are ignoring her. She's still and small and with her eyes lowered. Her presence in the force is a dull, shut down thing with a frantic tremor of worry and uncertainty hidden deep underneath. He's glad of that; no matter how much she wants to be resigned to whatever happens to her, there's clearly a part of her that still cares. </p><p>Somebody has given her a half cloak. It's probably not doing much for her in terms of warmth in the chilly ship, but at least she's not quite so exposed in that flimsy scrap of cloth.  </p><p>When he comes closer, she glances up at him. There's a scrape on her cheekbone from when he pressed her against the wall earlier. The way she folds her hands in her lap and bends her head seems to be some kind of formal acknowledgement, something drilled into her.</p><p>Maul sighs inwardly. It makes him uneasy to realise that she assumes he's her new master, but here in the crowded cargo bay doesn't seem like the right moment to get into it. Her hands are white, even the way they're clasped together can't hide that they're shaking. </p><p>This will require patience. He is not a patient man. </p><p>"Niri."</p><p>He feels some kind of distaste from her at the name, but outwardly she only gives that little head bend again, her eyes somewhere around his feet.</p><p>"That's what he called you. Is that how you want to be known?" Names are important. "Or is there another name you prefer."</p><p>She wavers for a long moment, and then—</p><p>"Dunèth, my Lord."</p><p>"Maul."</p><p>"My Lord Maul," she says smoothly, and curse it, that was not what he meant, but he decides to leave it. One thing at a time. </p><p>"Stand up a moment, Dunèth."</p><p>She stands immediately, legs long and bare. The half cloak barely falls to mid-thigh. </p><p>Maul shrugs out of his outer robes and sweeps them around her shoulders, settling them on her smaller frame. Even over top of the Mando cloak she's practically swallowed by the heavy cloth of his robes, the hem on the floor. Her hands come up to clutch it closed, and he quirks an involuntary grin.</p><p>"Better. We'll find you clothes when we get to base in a couple of hours."</p><p>"Thank you, my Lord."</p><p> </p><p>He goes back to her after they've landed and the Mandos have carried off the ledgers and headed off to their own quarters. She's still in her spot on the cargo crate. The achy buzz in his temples is also still there, though he seems to have at least established that he's not randomly going to hurt her just for the hell of it. Her anxiety seems to have moved on to the fear of doing something wrong. She's waiting for him to set the rules and expectations. </p><p>He is beginning to wonder if he might have been better off bringing Draiven. It would certainly have meant less worry that his guest would starve unless explicitly told it's okay to take food from the kitchen. </p><p>"You're free," he tells her bluntly. "Not a slave anymore."</p><p>She takes that news without much of a reaction. </p><p>"I need your help with the ledgers," he says. "If you'll stay a few weeks to help, I'll get you to a good planet afterward with some money to get you started."</p><p>She nods in passive acceptance, and he belatedly realises that from her point of view, it's inadvisable to rejoice at this kind of news. Never know if it'll offend the Master and get the offer retracted, after all. A promise of freedom means very little. </p><p>He gestures her along out of the ship and into the base, points her to a room with a cot, shows her the kitchen. Somebody has already left a stack of clothes and a pair of boots on the table as he'd requested. </p><p>"We're not rationed. Take what you need," he points to the pantry. It's mostly rat bars, but there are plenty of them. "Anything else you need, ask for it."</p><p>He can tell there's something, so he waits for it. </p><p>"M-may I have scissors?"</p><p>"Would a knife do?" </p><p>She nods timidly, and he presents her with his boot knife. No hesitation about handing her a blade—she could never touch him even if she wanted to, and she doesn't. And she doesn't seem the kind of desperate he'd worry about arming. She seems detachedly curious if anything. </p><p>She accepts the blade and then with a quick motion reaches back for her thick braid and slices it clean off.</p><p>She braces herself as the braid falls to the ground in thick coils, and Maul suddenly understands this was a test. As a slave her hair had been important. Draiven had clearly valued it. <em>Niri. Golden. </em>If Maul had been planning to sell her on, cutting it would have decreased the price he could ask. </p><p>If she's free, if she's not a slave, her hair doesn't matter. </p><p>She'd expected to be stopped. And if not stopped, punished. Now she's frozen, unsure where to go from here. </p><p>"If you save that braid, I'm sure somebody would give you good credits for it," he says, pointedly leaving the room. Fuck, some Coreworld wigmaker would probably give his right arm for it. He looks back just before he rounds the corner. "Ask one of the Mandos to borrow their clippers if you want to get rid of the rest."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maul wakes up from a ripple of distress in the force. He lies very still for a few moments, reaching out with his senses in the dark room.</p><p>There she is, on her cot in the corner.</p><p>She's a former slave they'd picked up for her ability to translate the ledgers her former owner's house had yielded. Unfortunately for her, she's a desert creature and their current base is on an ice planet, and a poorly heated base at that. He'd had somebody find extra clothes for her; the flimsy scraps of her slave outfit barely qualified as a scarf. Even in the loose pants, thick tunic and oversized boots they'd found for her, she was blue-lipped and near catatonic on the first morning in the base.</p><p>Maul is the only one with heated quarters large enough to fit an extra cot, so that's where she'd ended up.</p><p>The force around her is a roiling mess of fear and misery. A nightmare, that much is clear, but she is also cold to the bone even in this heated room, and that has to be worsening her distress.</p><p>"Dunèth," he says, low and firm. "Wake up." He brushes against her mind with the force, and almost startles at the gaping chasm of loneliness he feels, just for an instant.</p><p>She jolts upright. He can see her eyes blink open in the gloom. She must see him sitting up, watching her, because she casts her gaze down to the floor.</p><p>"I'm sorry, my Lord, I did not mean to—"</p><p>"If you're cold, we can switch beds," he offers rashly, just wanting her to stop apologising for her existence. Her skittishness and anxiety will require patience to ease, and he'll be the first to admit that patience is not a quality he has ever been shown or developed for himself.</p><p>Offering his bed is not his most thought out move ever; he would certainly be uncomfortable on the cot. It's hard enough getting his cybernetic legs positioned so that his spine aligns properly in a real bed.</p><p>She sits up on her cot, blanket drawn tightly around herself. Maul waits while she works through his offer. It takes her long enough that he might be starting to fall back asleep.</p><p>"I would not wish to evict you from your bed, my Lord—"</p><p>"Maul," he corrects. He doesn't like the title from her, the deference being nothing he's earned. Just a title she would have used to an owner or master. He doesn't want to be that, to her. The idea of owning her as a slave makes him sick.</p><p>He moves to the unslept, cooler side of the bed.</p><p>"In that case, there is enough space here." He pats the warmed place in the bed he's just vacated.</p><p>It takes her a long time, and Maul hazes out a little, drowsily aware of a long hesitation and then a furtive approach. She finally slips under the covers and makes a surprised hum of pleasure as she settles in the warm spot he'd left for her.</p><p>"You are <em>warm</em>," she sounds unguarded in her surprise. "How can you be warm?"</p><p>"Two hearts," Maul says quietly. "Always warm." He isn't feeling any fear from her anymore, and he hadn't expected to be so pleased by that. She isn't keeping as much to the edge of the bed as he'd expected her to. She's curled up on her side, facing him, blankets pulled up almost to her nose.</p><p>"Can I..."</p><p>That's intriguing. She hasn't expressed any sort of desire or request at all until now. It seems to be taking her a long time to scrape up the courage to do it now.</p><p>"Can you...?" he prompts when it's clear she can't continue.</p><p>"May I be closer?" she asks in a small voice.</p><p>She... wants to touch? Maul is something akin to impressed. It's clear that took a lot to ask. He makes an affirmative noise and feels her shuffle closer, until her hands settle icily against his bicep.</p><p>"You <em>are</em> cold," he rumbles. He opens his arm, inviting her in closer, and after a long moment she slides into the crook of his arm, body pressed all along his side. She's wearing all her clothes in her attempt to stay warm.</p><p>Maul is unprepared for the odd wash of protectiveness he feels just now. Perhaps it's just that he faces such opposition and strife and endless, endless obstacles for results in the cause. This, here, is a problem he can solve easily enough, and it makes one person feel better. That suddenly seems well worth it.</p><p>She apparently hadn't realised that he sleeps only in pants, because her breath catches when her hand lands on his bare torso. He sleepily traps it there with his other hand, warming icy digits between his chest and his palm. She shivers.</p><p>"Sorry to keep you awake," she whispers.</p><p>Maul huffs dismissively and draws her in a little closer. He has never shared a bed with anybody. Even sex had always been… distant, involving little unnecessary contact. and he'd never lingered. He hadn't even considered any sort of company since—well, it wasn't as if sex even is an option anymore.</p><p>This, somebody just here in his arms, is new, and to his surprise, he finds he likes it.</p><p>"Keep me awake when you're freezing on your cot," he rumbles. There's a sort of flinch in the force, and he adds, "This is better."</p><p>He'd expected to need to meditate to be able to relax in her presence, but to his own amazement he wakes up at dawn, surprisingly rested. The woman is still there, curled up against his side, her arm across his abdomen. Her dreams are ticking slow and at ease. She feels at peace.</p><p>...so does he. He's not sure he's ever experienced this particular feeling before.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Maul groans as he bends over the translations her work has yielded so far. It had seemed so simple when they acquired the ledgers. Bring the books. Bring somebody who can translate them. He hadn't counted on how much interpretation is required to make sense of the numbers. Especially when it seems there are multiple entries referring to the same event, and they contradict. They've been at this for nineteen days, but the clarity he thought to find hasn't materialised yet.</p><p>"So stressed," Dunèth says with what feels like genuine sympathy. "May I rub your head?"</p><p>"Does that help?" he asks, nonplussed. He's not inclined to turn down her touch if it's offered, but the two things don't seem related.</p><p>They've shared his bed for the past few weeks. For warmth—but by now also because they both quietly acknowledge they enjoy the contact. That hasn't extended to any sort of touch outside of his quarters though, at least until now.</p><p>"It does for humans," she says with a tiny smile. "Maybe it works for you too."</p><p>He shrugs with a nod of permission, and turns his back to her, attention back on his work. She It takes a conscious effort to hold still when her hands settle on the side of his neck, there are reflexes trying to interpret that as a threat. But her hands are small and soft, and she rubs little circles up his neck and along the base of his spine. He hums and holds still for her; it feels unexpectedly good.</p><p>"May I touch the horns or should I avoid them?"</p><p>"It's fine. The base is sensitive."</p><p>She rubs his scalp for a while, avoiding the horns, and he slowly becomes aware that he's just staring mindlessly at a page. His entire being is focused on the circles she's rubbing around his horns, some strange mix of relaxation and anticipation making his hearts speed up.</p><p>When she finally dares to touch the sensitive base of his horns he groans softly. This is definitely more anticipation than relaxation. It's gradual, but on every gentle pass of her fingertips heat floods down his spine and into his belly. He presses his head into her touch, just in case she got the idea he wants her to stop.</p><p>"Good?" she sounds like she's smiling. He has no idea how much time has passed. Feels endless and yet not long enough.</p><p>"Mmm," he rumbles. His skin prickles, and his hearts are pounding. He clenches and unclenches his hands, unsure what to do with this restless feeling. It's like this is building up to something, and this may be the first massage of his life, but he doesn't think that's how it usually goes.</p><p>She puts a little more pressure with her thumbs, and he feels a moan catch in his throat, because suddenly he <em>knows</em>. He knows what this is.</p><p>He reaches up behind him to grab her wrists, not trusting his voice right now.</p><p>Her breath catches, and she stands very still, hands off his head now, thin wrists in his grip.</p><p>"My Lo—Maul?" she sounds uncertain, and that reflexive 'my Lord' that almost came out of her mouth only makes him more glad he stopped her. It took a while to recognise the feeling. What was building was an orgasm, just without a dick to center on, the pleasure weirdly diffuse through his body.</p><p>His whole body feels primed with anticipation, with want. But he doesn't like the idea of letting her continue without her knowing what is happening. It feels wrong somehow, and she's—she's endured enough. She doesn't deserve him taking this innocently offered gesture and making it into something it wasn't meant to be. He has no idea how to explain this to her, if he even can. And even then—he isn't sure that she'd feel free to say no, to walk away because it wasn't meant to be sexual.</p><p>He can feel her rapid heartbeat in her wrists, and he lets go of her, grimacing inwardly because now she's worried she did something wrong. He can feel it rolling off of her. She stands uncertainly behind him. It's nowhere near as bad as it was that first week, but she still gets twitchy if she thinks something she did displeased him.</p><p>He opens his arm and scoops it behind her, lightly guiding her to stand against his side. She breathes out the air she'd been holding, and relief crackles off of her.</p><p>"You did nothing wrong," he says, trying to breathe down his erratic heartbeat. Words don't come easily to him, never have, but she seems to need to hear it, so he tries. "Just wasn't—relaxing me."</p><p>"Sorry," she says in a small voice, and no, fuck, that wasn't—</p><p>Unable to think of something better, Maul winds the whole mess of sensation into a ball and mentally pushes it at her, hoping she can interpret it better than he can. Her breath hitches and she goes very still for a moment, presumably trying to make sense of something he only barely figured out.</p><p>"Oh," she says very slowly. "<em>That</em>... kind... of not relaxing."</p><p>"Mm," he agrees.</p><p>Her body eases against his side, and he feels like he can breathe again too. She doesn't seem.. repulsed, at least. He knows she didn't truly relax around him until she learned that he couldn't fuck her even if he wanted to. He was worried this would send her into retreat. Or worse, that she would somehow feel obligated.</p><p>"Don't you want…?" she asks finally.</p><p>He takes a moment to really think about it. Leaving aside the matter of being in the public base kitchen where anybody is liable to walk in…. Now the urgency of it has ebbed away, he can focus on how unsettling the idea is to have to sit passively and let her… let her unleash that in him. He's never been passive about anything sexual in his life, and to rediscover this at her hands makes him feel exposed in a way mere nakedness wouldn't. It's an idea he might need to get used to.</p><p>"Do <em>you </em>want to?"</p><p>"I, I enjoyed, that you were… enjoying it?" she says slowly. "If I could make you feel that good, if that's something I could… could give you, I'd like that."</p><p>He hums in acknowledgement.</p><p>"Then tonight, we could. Try that more," he decides.</p><p> </p><p>It's hard to concentrate on his work the rest of the day, something of that restless feeling won't leave him. He can only hope that she hasn't changed her mind by tonight. A surreptitious touch of his own had made it clear that this wasn't something he could do for himself.</p><p>She no longer wears all her clothes to bed like armour, though she's still fully covered, including socks. There's a kind of nervous energy about her, but he thinks it's closer to excitement than unease.</p><p>After some experimenting, she sits against the headboard with two thick pillows in her lap. He arranges his legs to get his spine aligned right and rests his head on those pillows. It's a little strange to feel her over him like that, if he tips back his head he can see her upside down. She flashes a shy smile.</p><p>"If you want to… stop, or slow, or—just say so."</p><p>He makes an affirmative sound. His right hand is wrapped around her sock-clad ankle, more to give it some place to be than anything else. It feels strange to have his hands just… not be involved in this.</p><p>She's a bit more purposeful this time, not waiting as long to touch the sensitive horn bases. Maul becomes aware that the sensation builds more obviously now that he knows what's happening.</p><p>She takes her sweet time with it. Sometimes she backs off a little, going back to his neck or his forehead, touches that would feel good at any other time, now apparently done mostly to tease him. Maul has never been teased in his life and doesn't take well to it; his fingers twitch to reach up and push her fingers back to where he wants them. It's something new though, for her to not take the safest, most direct route to what she knows will please. For her to give her own spin to this. He's so pleased by her taking a risk with him that he can't even grumble about being made to wait.</p><p>After a while time loses all meaning and he stops caring about teasing, he just doesn't want this to ever stop. His thumb has slipped under the edge of her sock, tracing slow circles on the delicate bone of her ankle.</p><p>It doesn't come naturally to make sound, but when she moves from horn to horn, never lingering long, he remembers that it would help to direct her. The temple horns seem most sensitive to this specific kind of sensation, and he allows himself to hum with pleasure when she concentrates on those. His hearts are pounding. His senses feel sharp and on edge in a strangely pleasant way. It's not the prickle of danger or or fury, the adrenaline of a fight—but it's something not far from that feeling, either.</p><p>Restlessness sings through his veins.</p><p>"Feels strange to be still," he murmurs, because his body feels like it should be moving. His phantom feet want to plant themselves on the bed, his phantom hips want to thrust. It's not impossible with the cybernetics, but he instinctively knows it wouldn't satisfy.</p><p>She slows, hesitating.</p><p>"Don't stop. 's good."</p><p>"Should I do it.. More?"</p><p>Maul blinks, because what more could there be? But he nods, curious. Then she spreads out her hands, angling them so that she is touching as many of his horns as she can reach, fingertips against the bases.</p><p>"Would probably go better if I had some oil," she says contemplatively, but then she moves her hands to rub firmly and he makes a noise as if she punched the breath right out of him.</p><p>Maul reflexively releases the hold he had on her ankle before he squeezes too hard and hurts her. His hands want to blench into fists, and he yanks at the blankets until he has enough material to curl his fingers into. If she'd been building a slow fire in his spine, in his belly, now she's pouring lava. He strains, spine tensing. He wants to move his head, but he doesn't want to dislodge her hands, and he thinks he might be grimacing.</p><p>He doesn't know where this is going, is the weird part. Doesn't know how to trace this sensation and find its conclusion, because it's everywhere at once and the parts of him he's used to feeling this with no longer exist.</p><p>"Breathe," she prompts, and he can tell <em>she </em>is breathing fast, that her heart is pounding, that she is enjoying this. <em>That </em>somehow is what lets the wave finally crest in his body. He takes a huge breath.</p><p>It's not explosive like it used to be. His back arches and his head tips back. Pleasure burns through his veins, on and on. He feels a sound wring its way out of him—</p><p>After he's come back down he spends some undetermined time hazily listening to the rushing in his ears, the pounding of his blood.</p><p>When he is ready to look beyond the inside of his own body, he realises that he still has his head in her lap, and she's idly stroking his scalp with light fingertips.</p><p>"Do you want me to—do you want to be alone?" she asks softly.</p><p>Maul bites down on the first impulse to say <em>yes</em>. He <em>does</em> want to be alone. He feels scraped raw and open, too naked, and it's not a feeling he likes having with somebody right there to witness his weakness.</p><p>He wants to be alone, but he doesn't want to send her away, because that will make what just happened a service. Not a giving act between equals, something which might be reciprocated later, but a pleasure slave performing a service and making herself scarce when her presence is no longer wanted.</p><p>It's a genuine offer, he can tell, and she might not even resent leaving now. But just the thought of it makes him uneasy.</p><p>Whatever is between them—and he is only just now in this moment realising that he'd like it to be more than this—whatever bonds exist between them are thin like spider's silk. The first, fragile reaches across the gulf between them. Every moment, every act, either strengthens or injures.</p><p>He reaches up and takes hold of her hand, gently tugs it down along his cheek to rest on his chest. He tilts his head a little so he can rest his temple against the soft skin of her inner elbow without scraping her with his temple horn.</p><p>She makes a soft noise of understanding, and he thinks she might be smiling.</p><p>He's a little surprised not to fall asleep. He's relaxed, his body feels heavy, he probably <em>could </em>sleep. But it's not the heavy torpor he remembers.</p><p>He's idly thinking about if he could do something for her. This was kind of a strange exception; they've not done any kind of sexual touching, and he wouldn't be surprised if she won't want that at all, or not for a while. They curl up close at night, but always with care to keep his hands in neutral places.</p><p>"Could I do that for you?"</p><p>It's probably too direct a question, she struggles to give a direct 'no' so he tries to word things to leave her an out. Luckily she finds one herself:</p><p>"A head massage?"</p><p>He was vaguely thinking about an orgasm, but he can roll with it if it's the thing she's comfortable with.</p><p>"I'd… I'd like that… I think..."</p><p>He moves around until she can get under the covers. When she moves to put her head on his shoulder, he gently guides her down instead, until she's at an angle with him, her head on his abdomen.</p><p>He cups both hands around her skull to explain why he did that, and she's already relaxing again.</p><p>Her hair is clipped short. It was waist-long, thick and glossy, and she'd asked for scissors that first day. Ended up borrowing a set of clippers the Mandos use.</p><p>Thinking back, he realises it was probably a test. He'd told her she was free, that she was not their slave. Clipping her hair reduced her value; if they'd been lying, somebody would likely have stopped her.</p><p>It's grown out to downy fuzz right now, and he makes a surprised little sound at how soft it is under his fingertips. He's never done this, wouldn't know how to begin apart from what felt good for him. She's helpfully vocal though, hums and sighs when he's getting it right, presses her head into his hands when she wants a little more pressure.</p><p>"Feels good?" he asks after a while.</p><p>"Can't you tell?" she murmurs drowsily.</p><p>He can. Her force presence is sweetly content.</p><p>"Was wondering…" she sighs a while later.</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"What you did this afternoon. You can… let me feel what you feel?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>It's no great effort for him, though it helps that she's got a tiny trickle of force sensitivity herself. Nowhere near enough to use it consciously, but just enough to be receptive.</p><p>"So if I… if we… did that again…" she lets out a breathy sigh and seems to lose her trail of thought.</p><p>Maul might be enjoying his newly discovered ability to distract her from speaking by rubbing gentle circles just behind her ears.</p><p>It gives him a moment to follow her thoughts and consider it. He probably <em>could </em>let her ride along on the sensation, if they did it again. He likes the idea of it, how that would turn it into something they do together.</p><p>He also immediately has a thought for the other way around. If she got to a point where she'd let him use his mouth or his fingers to make her come, he could ride along on her orgasm. He thinks about his face between her legs while her fingers rub his horns, thinks about the feedback loop he could make out of that, and that sounds.. that sounds kind of amazing.</p><p>He blinks at the tone his own thoughts have taken on.</p><p>Life's been so dire since..</p><p>Well.</p><p>Just, <em>since</em>.</p><p>He's had to claw and fight for every little part of himself that he could recover. Been consumed with revenge. Felt like less than half a man. <em>This </em>part, touch and enjoyment and sex, he'd assumed lost forever.</p><p>To think about the future with any sort of anticipation is a startling feeling.</p><p>"Yes," he says finally, answering the question she never quite asked. He trails his fingertip down the bridge of her nose. "We can do that."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>because we're still on self indulgence, here's more Maul Discovers Soft Things Are Nice</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"It's a good thing you barely move in your sleep," Dunèth says as they're getting into bed. "Or you'd constantly need new pillows."</p><p>"Still do," he says, bringing up a hand to feel at the back horns. They're rough and cracked, and one of them has a sharp break edge. They're not in great condition.</p><p>"Do you… do anything with them?" She's using that careful, slow way of speaking that he knows means she's worried about offending him.</p><p>"On Iridinia there are places you go to. Similar to a barber for humans. They file and polish and oil your horns."</p><p>He wonders how horrified the Zabraks working at those places would be at seeing his horns.</p><p>"I could… if you wanted…?" she reaches a tentative hand to his head, and he leans into the touch as soon as she makes contact.</p><p>"Not going to turn down any offer of you touching my head," he says, much too honest. It's true though. If she declared her intent to file them down to stumps he'd sit still for that, too.</p><p>"Tomorrow?" she smiles. "At the very least I can take off that sharp edge."</p><p>He hums in agreement. She's still touching his head and he would probably agree to a great many things just to keep her from stopping. Probably better that she doesn't figure that out.</p><p>He covers her hand with his own.</p><p>"Tonight… do you want to try what we talked about?"</p><p>She nods shyly, and then straightens up suddenly, pulling her hand away.</p><p>"Oh! I remember I—can you wait a moment?"</p><p>He nods, puzzled, and she gets back out of bed, stepping into her boots without lacing them, and looks around for something warm to put over her sleep clothes.</p><p>"Take my robes," Maul says quietly, half because he doesn't want to be cold and half because his thick black outer robes more or less swallow her up, hems trailing on the ground. It satisfies some previously unmet primal need in him.</p><p>He moves to sit upright against the headboard, piling some pillows behind himself. She's back quickly, bearing a small bowl with liquid she puts on the crate serving as night stand.</p><p>"Come sit?" He gestures to his lap, hoping that the sensations will feel less strange and disconnected if he can feel her against him.</p><p>She looks uncertain. He wonders what makes her hesitate. It would be an intimate position… if he weren't made of metal from just below the belly button.</p><p>What does she think he's going to do? Rape her with his non-existant cock?</p><p>Maul bites back his impatience and actually considers it. What <em>does </em>she think he's going to do? Last time they did this she'd been behind him where he couldn't touch her at all. And when he rubbed her scalp afterward, his hands had obviously stayed on her head.</p><p>Sitting on his lap brings her in range for touching. She struggles to tell him 'no' or 'stop,' so it might feel like agreeing to sit in his lap is akin to agreeing to whatever he might decide to do with his hands.</p><p>Right.</p><p>He can see how that's—</p><p>"Want to hold you. I can keep my hands on your back," he offers, and that seems to be the reassurance she needs, because she nods shyly and moves closer.</p><p>He puts a cushion in his lap, both for comfort—his legs were not designed for sitting on— and to get her to a better height. His legs have pressure sensors, but they're the type to make him aware if his legs are being crushed or damaged, not sensitive enough to give him much from a woman settling in his lap.</p><p>Maul tries not to think about what it would have felt like—it's not anything he's ever experienced before, either, and he never will, so what does it matter. Instead he forces his mind to focus on how close she is now, her hands settling on his shoulders. How he can feel her breath brush his chest.</p><p>She's breathing fast, somewhere between excited and nervous. He lifts her chin so he can look into her eyes.</p><p>"You can say stop. At any point. Yes?"</p><p>She briefly meets eyes, so close all of a sudden, and then looks down. He doesn't force the eye contact, even though it's tempting to keep staring straight into her. Lets his hand slide along her jaw to stroke circles in the soft fuzz on the back of her neck.</p><p>"I do know that," she says softly, almost embarrassed.</p><p>She just can't say it, but he thinks he can work with that now he understands where the problem is. Maul brushes his lips against her forehead and settles his hands on her back, one between her shoulderblades and one in the small of her back. He can feel her muscles shift through the thin knit of her shirt.</p><p>She reaches up for his head.</p><p>"Wait, oil."</p><p>Without hesitation she leans out to the side, far enough that he has to steady her, and dips her fingers into the little bowl on the nightstand. Maul huffs, kind of enjoying the way she thoughtlessly relied on him to keep her from falling.</p><p>Her oily hands on his scalp immediately supercede any thought he had in his mind.</p><p>"<em>Fuck</em> that feels good."</p><p>She smiles, and he likes that he can see it because she's right there in his lap. This is already better than the first time they did this, and he hasn't even started to—</p><p>"Want to feel?"</p><p>She nods, shyly eager. Maul concentrates on projecting as lightly as possible. This kind of thing hasn't ever had a subtle use to him; he's only projected in the middle of a fight to throw off an opponent. A sensation bomb is not what he's after here.</p><p>From the way she freezes with a choked-off noise, he needs to go a little lighter still. He backs off on it until her fingers start moving again, tentatively stroking the scalp between his horns.</p><p>"Oh, that is… that is very strange," she breathes. She experimentally glides a fingertip along a horn ridge, and they both shiver.</p><p>"Good strange?"</p><p>"Mmm."</p><p>She traces a delicate fingertip along the rim of his ear, and oh, she doesn't really need his guidance now, she can tell exactly how it feels. Somehow that part hadn't really occurred to him. He'd just wanted it to be something she shared in.</p><p>She spends a long, <em>long </em>time on his ears, tracing the ridges, rubbing the sensitive skin behind his ear, rubbing the lobe between her fingertips. It feels really good, though it doesn't have the direct link to his gut that the horn bases seem to have.</p><p>Side effect of her knowing exactly how something feels: she can tease with <em>devastating </em>effect. It's torture—he feels like an overstretched piece of elastic. His hands are restless on her back. Is she trying to get him to beg?</p><p>"<em>Why</em> are you dragging it out?" he groans.</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>She says it very quietly, and her fingers stop moving. Maul has a sinking feeling.</p><p>"Do you just want me to… finish you now?"</p><p>They're too close for him to see her face, her temple is by his jaw. Her tone is the careful neutral she doesn't use much with him anymore. He is mostly projecting sensations at her, but he can feel her a little in return along the force link, a bright elation he hadn't properly noticed until it dimmed.</p><p>Wait, fuck. That wasn't—</p><p>It's like he cut her down to size. He <em>remembers </em>that feeling. <em>Ideas too big for your station, little apprentice?</em></p><p>"No," he starts, because that at least he can say right away. The rest is more confusing, because he <em>does </em>want her to stop torturing him by avoiding the horn ridges, but he also doesn't want this to stop at all, ever. And he very much doesn't want this sudden drop back into what he thinks of as her slave demeanor, where this is a service she is doing for him.</p><p>Maul casts about for a way to fix this. Fuck, how does he—he's never—</p><p>He leans back just far enough that he can kiss her forehead.</p><p>"I'm not used to, to denying myself something that's within reach," he tries to explain. "And don't—understand it. But if you want to sit here all night just doing that, I'll still like it."</p><p>He'd go crazy with frustration, probably, but that's not what she needs to hear right now.</p><p>Her fingers are moving idly on his ears, as if she isn't quite aware of it. She sounds a little more animated when she explains, "Everything feels better when you've been yearning for it."</p><p>"Is that so?" He makes a sceptical 'hmm' noise.</p><p>"Can I prove it to you?" there's a hint of a smile in her voice, and oh, he <em>likes </em>that.</p><p>"You can try," he challenges lightly.</p><p>She hums in acknowledgement and leans closer, and then suddenly there's a warm touch around his earlobe and then a wet <em>suction</em>. It feels like fire licking down his spine, and his skin feels too tight all of a sudden, his fingers flexing reflexively against her back. He makes some kind of hoarse, strangled noise he can only hope wasn't audible outside this room.</p><p>He's silent for the space of a few heartbeats.</p><p>"Point…" he needs to swallow to get some moisture into his throat. "Point made. Take as long as you like."</p><p>She makes a soft, breathy sound, and he leans back to see that she looks a little dazed herself.</p><p>Maul chuckles. That half-lidded gaze is a good look on her.</p><p>"Wow. Not going to be easy keeping my focus for that," she breathes.</p><p>Her fingers slip to his horns, gentle little fingers rubbing the bases. The fire stokes in Maul's belly. He groans softly. It all feels so good, but it's a diffuse pleasure he has no control over. He desperately misses the direct, concentrated pleasure of touching his cock, the bright blaze of intensity it gave. This is like trying to take a drink from fog when you used to have a tap.</p><p>It feels like an oversight that Dunèth has a clit that neither of them are touching right now.</p><p>"Now imagine if I could pleasure you at the same time," he lets slip. Could be too early to broach this idea, but he can't take it back now.</p><p>"You mean… rub my head…?" She sounds like she knows that's not what he means, but wants him to spell it out.</p><p>"Or anywhere else you'd like my fingers, or my mouth." His voice drops over that last part.</p><p>Her eyes widen, and her mouth shapes a silent 'oh' before she catches herself and closes it. Her cheeks flush endearingly. She hides her face against his shoulder.</p><p>Maul is surprised at how much he wants it. He's gone down on a woman before and didn't particularly care for it. Perhaps that was because sex as a whole was about his own satisfaction, either at a pleasure house or with the kind of partner who was similarly after their own orgasm. He's never felt excited with the thought of giving pleasure before. It's not even about the idea that he could experience her orgasm via the force, though he wants that, too. He's just inexplicably drawn to the idea of feeling her go unmoored with pleasure, of causing that.</p><p>Has anybody ever done that for her? He wouldn't be surprised if he would be the first, and that's even more appealing. His ego definitely likes the idea of making her feel things nobody ever has.</p><p>"Something to keep in mind," he murmurs into her hair, just in case she thinks he's proposing it for right now.</p><p>He chokes on a breath when she presses her mouth to his neck, grazes her teeth over sensitive skin, her hands working at the horn bases. Fuck, that's intense almost to the point of searing his brain. She is squirming a little in his lap, as if she isn't aware her hips are rolling, seeking friction. His restless hands drift down and cup the soft curve of her hip over her leggings.</p><p>She makes a soft whining sound that blazes its way into his gut, and he can <em>feel </em>what she wants, or at least what her body wants. He clenches his hand on her hip in an effort to stop himself from just cramming his hand where her body craves it.</p><p>"W-want something to gr-grind against?" he manages.</p><p>She makes a pleading little noise and nods, face pressed warm and damp against neck.</p><p>Mail slips his right hand between them so the back of his hand is right there at the apex of her thighs, groaning at the damp heat he feels there through her leggings.</p><p>She makes a sound of pure relief at the pressure, and inexplicably <em>that </em>is what sends Maul spiraling.</p><p>The heat in his belly wells up and spills over, pulsing through his veins, his hearts pounding loud in his ears. Dunèth's fingers clench against his horns to the point of near-pain but that just makes him spiral higher, all the coiled tension she's built up within him finally, <em>finally </em>discharging with a growl that vibrates in his ribcage.</p><p>Everything whites out for what feels like long moments.</p><p>He doesn't come down, is the interesting thing. Orgasms used to be a sharp peak and then a crash. Now it's more like gently floating back down, awareness gradually extending beyond his own body, his fingers tingling.</p><p>Dunèth's thighs are tight around his waist, though no longer as clenched as they were a few moments before. Maul's left hand is still trapped between their bodies. His right hand is cupping the back of her head, keeping her against his shoulder. She has her face turned wetly against the heated skin of his throat. Her shoulders heave.</p><p>She's… sobbing?</p><p>Fuck, what happened?</p><p>Is something—was something—? Did he hurt her somehow? He knows she could feel his climax, but he wasn't really listening in return, too absorbed in what he was feeling.</p><p>Maul experimentally strokes the side of her head with his thumb. Then, belatedly, he reaches out to her in the force, trying to figure out what went wrong.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>Nothing seems to be wrong. She's not in pain. She doesn't even seem to be upset? It feels more like overwhelmed to him, raw. Maybe there's something of catharsis. Maul had no idea that might be accompanied by tears, but he'll be the first to admit that he's had very little occasion to be interested in other people's emotions.</p><p>Nothing in his life has prepared him for this situation. He has never comforted anybody in his life, and he is entirely unprepared for how much he finds he <em>wants </em>to. He wants to make her feel better.</p><p>He gently extricates his hand from between their bodies and then moves himself down the bed, until he's mostly flat on his back. Dunèth unwraps her legs to ease them beside his body, but otherwise stays quiet and still. She seems miles away. Once he's settled, he pulls the blankets over them both and lets his free hand drift down her back.</p><p>Time doesn't seem to have much meaning right now. There's just this endless stretch of quiet, his mind floating calmly. Dunèth seems at ease now, breathing slowly, body heavy and relaxed. It's so damn good just to feel her against him. The warm soft weight of her, her soft chest pressed up against his.</p><p>At some point she sighs and seems to come back into herself. He hums when she presses a kiss against the hollow of his throat.</p><p>"Thank you," she whispers.</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"For being… patient."</p><p>He huffs a little. "Some kind of irony that the person who most needs gentleness is with the person worst at giving it."</p><p>She does not pick on the part of that sentence he would have expected.</p><p>"Why am I more in need of gentleness than you are?"</p><p>Maul frowns. He would have thought that was obvious.</p><p>"The things you…"</p><p>"Did you not go through bad things?"</p><p>"I was trained to—"</p><p>Maul halts there and snaps shut his mouth. He can suddenly see the rest of this argument and it is not going where he wanted to go. 'I was trained to endure the harshness of my training' doesn't sound as logical as it once did.</p><p>She doesn't push her victory. Instead she leans up to brush her lips against his, and—he's not sure why they haven't done that before, kissing, but suddenly he wants to do a lot of it. He rolls them onto their sides so she doesn't have to strain.</p><p>Maul has never been much interested in this. He's always kissed—and fucked—like it's a battle, a fight for control that he was determined to win. Teeth were usually involved.</p><p>This, here, soft and slow, her jaw cupped in his hand and their breaths mingling… this is something new. When they finally ease apart with a sigh, Duneth's lips look pink and a little swollen. Maul licks his own oversensitised lips.</p><p>She slides down a little to tuck her head under his chin. Her body presses up against him, chest to chest, hip to hip, and she tries to get her legs comfortable against his. After a few tries she gives up with a huff of amusement. Maul thinks ruefully about pushing a thigh between hers, feeling her against him warm and intimate. Pointless and uncomfortable with his cybernetic legs.</p><p>"I'll need to move soon," he warns her in a low rumble. "Have to be on my back to sleep."</p><p>"Okay," she whispers, sighing with relaxation. Maul idly lets his fingers trace up and down her spine. She doesn't fall asleep. Time stretches out quietly, just… existing together.</p><p>"Maul?"</p><p>"Hm?"</p><p>"You're not bad at gentleness," she whispers against his neck, as if it's been bugging her.</p><p>He makes a sceptical sound.</p><p>"When you're gentle it feels like—" she searches for words for a long moment. "Like you're inventing the concept from scratch especially for me."</p><p>He's not sure if that is a good thing or not.</p><p>"It's terribly endearing," she continues. "It makes me feel so cared for. But don't try to tell me that is the act of a man who has known kindness."</p><p>He has absolutely no words to answer that, not even thoughts. She is right and he <em>hates </em>it.</p><p>"...or who is not in need of it himself."</p><p>He doesn't say anything, but she doesn't seem to expect it. Her thumb is sweeping back and forth over the nape of his neck, a little hypnotic. Maul idly wonders if this is what peace feels like.</p><p>Maybe.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes a couple of days before they do more than curl up close to sleep. He can feel it, when she just wants to be close and sleep; he can feel it when her interest is different, when she wants his hand to slide lower, when she kisses with different intent. Maul is discovering uses for the force he'd never even considered before. </p><p>He telegraphs his intent, when he trails his hands and mouth down her body. He'd rather feel her reluctance now than be surprised by it later. She seems tremulous at the thought of his mouth between her legs, but she's curious, too. </p><p>With a little coaxing he gets her naked and leaning back against the pillows, another pillow under her hips to raise her up for him a little. He settles on his stomach between her legs. He's anticipating spending some time here, he might as well be comfortable. </p><p>Her breath quivers when he trails teasingly light touches along her stomach, her sides, her hips. Maul grins against her skin, spending some more time on it. He's waiting to see if her anticipation will overcome her nerves. After a little while it does, and she tries to squirm closer to him, squeezing his shoulders with her knees. </p><p>When he finally lets his fingers slip to the slick heat of her, she sighs in relief, and he feels a rush of arousal at that, at his touch being so wanted that it feels like salvation. Her fingers are idly tracing his horns, and a sort of heated anticipation vibrates in his chest. He extends his senses, lets hers twine with his so he can feel what she feels. He wants to make her feel amazing. </p><p>He fucks it up. </p><p>Should have anticipated this, really.</p><p>He sucks on her clit and it feels so fucking <em>good</em>, that sharp tug of sensation, the blazing heat of it, and Maul loses himself in it, chasing the pleasure. </p><p>It's not until he feels the tight spasm in her breathing, her midriff hitching, that he truly pays attention to her again. What he sees when he looks up makes his heart plummet. She doesn't look like she's enjoying this. She looks like she's hanging on by her fingernails, fists clenched in the blankets.  An unfamiliar and deeply unpleasant emotion floods over Maul. He's hijacked her body, used it for his pleasure like she's the driver of a speeder he needed, shoving her into the backseat. That was not what this was supposed to be. </p><p>He didn't want to <em>use </em>her body, but he has. </p><p>Is he really as much above Draiven as he wants to believe himself to be?</p><p>He bites down on the urge to apologise, because she might say that it's okay, she doesn't <em>mind</em>, and that will make it so much worse. </p><p>He turns his face to press a kiss against the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a breath shivery with relief.</p><p>That same emotion squeezes at his gut. Is that guilt? He hates it. </p><p>He reaches up to one of her hands and gently pries it out of the blanket, slips his fingers between hers. His other hand glides along the curve of her waist, soothing. He trails gentle kisses to her thighs, and gradually he feels her ease down from the ledge he'd pushed her to.  </p><p>He eases way off on the connection to her senses before he goes back to her center. Allows himself to feel only an echo, enough to tell if he's getting it right, not enough to lose himself in. </p><p>When she finally comes, his hands on the inside of her thighs to stop her trembling legs from getting pierced by his temple horns, it's unexpectedly satisfying. It's not how he wanted this, but it's what he can have. That might have to be enough. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies for letting this take so long. Most of the rest of this story is finished, I just got way stuck on this chapter, which is why it's... not really what I originally had in mind.  There's a whole bunch more chapters to come though and those are more or less written.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I wrote a bunch more for this and then the brain squirrels attacked and now I'm not writing at all. This is unpolished stuff. What am I saying. This entire story is unpolished, barely contains plot, and is really a thin excuse to write idle thoughts about Maul finding something to try for.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maul falls, and he</p><p>falls and—</p><p>f</p><p>a</p><p>l</p><p>l</p><p>s</p><p>He finally lands with a bone jarring thud that knocks him out.</p><p>Mistake—</p><p>—should have fought that harder, because—he comes to with a choked scream.</p><p>His legs are stuck in some sort of vice, slowly getting crushed.</p><p>He grunts in pain and claws around himself, trying to get some kind of purchase. There's a ledge he closes his fingers around. Maul heaves with all his might, trying to pull himself out and—</p><p>There's a scream that isn't his, somebody is crying his name, and—</p><p>"Maul, please, Maul!"</p><p>He blinks and the desolate garbage dump around him dissolves, becomes a room, a bed—but the crushing pain on his legs doesn't fade. His hands are wrapped around Dunèth's arm, and she's half out of the bed, trying to get away from him and held there only by his grip. He can see her tears gleam in the low light.</p><p>"Please, Master—I," she pleads, "please…"</p><p>Maul curses and reflexively lets go, and she drops down to the floor next to the bed with a soft thump, cradling her arm.</p><p>Maul presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, hissing because he wants to comfort her but his <em>legs—</em></p><p>He can hear her breath hitching with quiet sobs.</p><p><em>Master</em>. Gods above and below. He feels <em>sick.</em></p><p>That's the last thing he ever wanted to hear from her. And now she's sitting on the icy stone floor, trying not to cry, and he can't speak, can't <em>think</em> with the pain in his legs.</p><p>"Take a blanket, sleep on the cot," he grits out. He'd go himself, but he can't walk right now. Even if he does get the pain to ease, he's afraid he'll slip right back into the nightmare, and he's already done enough damage.</p><p>She quietly gets up and curls up on the cot across the room.</p><p>What feels like an eternity later, the pain finally eases, leaving him sweaty and wrung out.</p><p>He doesn't sleep the rest of the night. He doesn't think Dunèth does either.</p><p> </p><p>Maul asks to see the bruise, in the morning. It feels like cowardice to just let her cover it up so he can pretend it doesn't exist. He can't explain that, but he thinks maybe she understands.</p><p>He has to repress a curse when he sees the ugly handprints, dark red with edges turning blue. She's already feeling anxious about showing him, as if seeing proof of what he did is going to anger him. Her sleeve covers it, but she's barely using the arm, keeping it cradled across her abdomen.</p><p>None of the Mandalorians remark on it, and the thought that they might assume he hurt her deliberately consumes him. Is that who they think he is? And they'd still follow him?</p><p>He's never been demonstrative with Dunèth outside their quarters, but he stays deliberately far away from her today. Can't forget that quiet, hopeless 'master' that makes him despair of her and furious with himself. He'd thought they—he'd hoped she—</p><p>He really thought he'd made sure that he wasn't.. <em>that</em>, to her.</p><p>He scrupulously keeps his mind away from her as well.</p><p>So it comes as something as a surprise when somewhere in the middle of the afternoon she slips next to him on the bench, not as casually close as usual, but closer than expected.</p><p>"Hey," she greets softly. He hums in acknowledgement, keeping his eyes on the book he's working on.</p><p>"Do you want me to go?"</p><p>He nearly gives a noncommittal hum about if he minds her presence next to him, and then it catches up with him. She doesn't just mean here in this moment. It's a much bigger question. It has been every time she asks it, or a variation of it. <em>Do you want me here at the base or have you tired of me?</em></p><p>He doesn't think it's a deliberate test. More a way to seek reassurance about her status when she feels uncertain. He just hates that he keeps making her that insecure.</p><p>"No," he says, looking at her. She seems small and timid in a way she hasn't in weeks now.</p><p>That apparently wasn't the answer she'd expected.</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"How are you feeling?"</p><p>She looks down and whispers, "Sore. Alone."</p><p>It finally smacks him over the head, then. That what he meant as giving her space from him wasn't wanted at all, that she interpreted it as being unwanted.</p><p>"I hate that I hurt you," he says. "It makes me feel—I hate it."</p><p>"It hurt," she nods. "But this hurts too." She gestures between them, and he could curse himself for getting so caught up in his guilt and shame that he failed to realise he was just hurting her more. Selfish.</p><p>He <em>knows </em>he's selfish. But he's trying not to be, when it comes to her.</p><p>He lightly captures her hand and rubs his thumb across her knuckles. Allows his mind to ease from its tight containment so that he can feel her in the force. To his amazement she's practically leaning toward him, longing to be held, though she can't seem to ask for it. He supposes he's been particularly unapproachable today.</p><p>"Want to—" he sits back a little and opens his arms, and she nods shyly and gets sideways onto his lap.</p><p>"Not the most comfortable seat," he admits, wrapping his arms around her. She puts her sore arm around his back to keep it out of the way and nestles close against his chest.</p><p>"Don't care," she says, muffled against his neck. Maul could curse for managing to convince himself that she wanted distance when she seems so painfully starved of comfort.</p><p>He rubs his cheek against her hair.</p><p>"It's growing out."</p><p>"Mm. Wanted to use the clippers today but—"</p><p>But her arm was too sore. She's been holding it carefully close against her abdomen all day.</p><p>"Do you want me to do it?"</p><p>She hesitates and he realises that his offer missed an element.</p><p>"I'd like to."</p><p>Less because he has particular interest in operating clippers and more because it's the opposite of what a master would do. He isn't sure if he's trying to prove something to himself or to her, but he still wants to do it.</p><p>She finally nods against his neck. They sit together for a while longer, Maul trying to let go of his frustration with her mental fragility, with how he has to keep reassuring that he wants her company and how the least thing can make her start to doubt it again. Not that this, if he's uncomfortably honest with himself, was a little thing.</p><p>He hurt her, frightened her, and then instead of comfort he sent her away from their bed and ignored her all day.</p><p>That some of those things were not in his control hardly matters. He tries to swallow all the ugly feelings of guilt and shame for having caused that heavy bruising.</p><p>Having so little experience of it, Maul is still clawing his way toward how people interact in a healthy kind of way. But even he can tell that 'It makes me feel bad when I've hurt you so I wish you wouldn't get hurt so easily' is not a reasonable, fair or sane thing to say or feel.</p><p>Then comes the guilt at not having thought sooner of giving her something for the pain. Maul has always had to grit out pain; first by wish of his master, then for lack of options, and now mostly out of habit. But they do have bacta shots, and he should have thought of that this morning instead of letting her suffer all day.</p><p>Her reaction to the offer of the bacta shot says that she'd thought they didn't have any, and he grinds away the guilt about that, too.</p><p>When her body has gone pliant and relaxed, the pain eased, he puts her in a chair and clips her hair.</p><p>He remembers sitting still for an hour while she meticulously filed his horns, and feeling her contentment in the force. He'd enjoyed the care and attention, but he'd been surprised by how much she seemed to like doing it. As he slowly runs the clippers over her head he might understand it better. There's something about doing this for her, being trusted with this, that's satisfying.</p><p>Perhaps it's also something like atonement, something tangible that he can do for her that means more than apologising. That she can't deflect like she would an apology.</p><p>When he's finished with the clippers he puts them aside and just spends some time running his hands over her head, rubbing little circles, kneading the neck muscles that get sore on him. She hums and her head lols a little, and she practically radiates bliss into the force.</p><p>"May have given you too much," he observes when he faces her. It's an understatement. Her pupils are dilated, and he can feel how her edges have blurred. She gives him a grin, open and fearless.</p><p>"Feel niiiice..."</p><p>He huffs an amused breath.</p><p>"I bet you do. Let's get you to bed."</p><p>Her knees seem to be rubbery and after a few wobbly steps he sweeps her up and carries her to their quarters. She laughs delightedly and lets her head rest against his shoulder, spine bonelessly relaxes. He puts her on the bed with an exaggerated throwing motion but only a hand of height to the mattress, and she bounces with a giggle. She sprawls out onto the bed and he can't help it, he just stands there watching for a long moment. She's so relaxed, limbs loose and pliant, gazing at him trustingly.</p><p>When she rolls over and grabs his hand to tug him onto the bed, he goes easily. As he settles next to her, Maul realises with crystal clarity that before this moment she has never, <em>ever </em>touched him first. Not without express permission or invitation first.</p><p>She has already relaxed so much from when he first met her, is so much less twitchy and anxious, that he hadn't realised how much more at ease it was possible for her to get.</p><p>He knows she's usually passive, always waiting for his move, every request always worded so carefully. Her former master must have delighted in taking offense when she spoke, in putting her in her place. Even the most oblique request is worded so that there is no possible hint of recrimination, of 'why haven't you done that yet'. He remembers how carefully she'd worded her question about his horns, as if the suggestion that his ragged, neglected horns could use some care might anger him.</p><p>Now she just takes his hand and boldly puts it where she wants it. Between her thighs.</p><p>His pulse picks up as he cups her through her leggings. She's so warm.</p><p>"Touch me," she says on a sigh, hips rolling into his touch. She tries to pull him closer, which mostly results in pulling herself closer to him.</p><p>Maul withdraws his hand for a moment, to her disappointed whine, and gets settled more comfortably on the bed. He distracts her with a kiss, which she deepens hungrily.</p><p>"Are you sure you want to do this now?" he asks when they break apart, because his recently acquired scruples hate the idea of doing something she'll regret later. She's not her usual self right now, and he is keenly aware that one wrong step can still take everything back to the beginning. "You're feeling good because you're high."</p><p>"Want to do this <em>because </em>I'm high," she says slowly, deliberately.</p><p>"Yeah?" he traces his fingers lightly along her collarbones, down the center of her chest, to her stomach. She arches up into it with an eager little noise.</p><p>"Mm. Want your fingers in me," she says with an unguarded, coy little smile that punches into his chest.</p><p>Maul's hearts skip into sync for a moment with a painful thumping. They've tried, once, if she would enjoy a finger, and her body had gone so tense that he'd decided it wasn't worth it.</p><p>He spreads his hand on her lower stomach, enjoying the feeling of that soft curve. Somehow he's always shocked with how large his hands are on her body. He lightly traces his fingertips along the crease of her hip, and she pushes up against his touch with a breathy little sound.</p><p> </p><p>Afterward she curls into his chest, burrowing against him.</p><p>"Wanna feel like this <em>all</em> the time," she sighs wistfully.</p><p>He raises his brows at her. He knows people take bacta shots recreationally, but he hadn't expected her to be the type.</p><p>"What, high?"</p><p>"Nooo," she draws out the word. "Unafraid..."</p><p>Oh. That makes his breath catch, he somehow hadn't realised that she's <em>aware </em>of how cautious she is. But she does know and apparently even gets frustrated with it. His hearts clench painfully, and he bends close to kiss her forehead.</p><p>"You'll get there," he says, hoping it's true. Wondering what he could do to help her get there. Wondering if he'll get to see it.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Maul really, <em>really </em>doesn't like to leave Duneth alone. The previous times have been short missions, a couple of days each, and there were always a couple of Mandalorians staying behind. The Mando's don't like her and largely pretend she doesn't exist, but they'd defend the base, at least. This time there won't be anybody else. He'll be leaving her alone. </p><p> "I'll be away for a month or so."</p><p>Probably less, but he'd rather surprise her early than worry her by being late. His plans do not have exact shape yet. </p><p>He can feel her disappointment, but she nods in acceptance. </p><p>"If anything happens here—" he hesitates. This is the strongest, safest place he has. On the other hand, a month is a long time. All sorts of things can change in a month. And he wants to make sure she knows this. </p><p>"If anything happens here, if the Jedi find this place—"</p><p>Her eyes widen, startled. </p><p>"I don't think they will. But if?"</p><p>She nods. </p><p>"I want you to tell them I kept you as a slave." He holds up his hand to stop her protest. "They already think I'm a monster. Let them believe they rescued you. Cooperate. Answer what questions they have about me."</p><p>She doesn't really know anything strategic about his plans, anyway. Whatever little information she has isn't worth sitting in a cell for; especially because the Jedi are soft and if convinced she's his victim, will more likely than not help her get a life started somewhere. </p><p>"But I—" she hesitates. "Why? I don't understand."</p><p>"Because then they'll trust you, and they'll at least let you go, but probably try to help you."</p><p>And they won't try to use her against him, either. Maul is uncomfortable with the thought that if they did, he's not sure what he'd do. </p><p>"But then…" she hesitates.</p><p>"I can't come for you." He tries to soften his voice, but she still flinches. He can't. He <em>won't</em>. "If you end up in Jedi hands, don't concern yourself with me. Use whatever you can to win their trust and get their help."</p><p>And then, be free. Live a good life.  </p><p>She has tears in her eyes, and he wraps his arms around her, trying not to sigh. Perhaps one day she'll understand that he's just given her the biggest gift he can even conceive of. </p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From what Maul can tell on approach, the base is unbreached. He'd been determined not to think about Duneth there alone, the possibility that somebody might find the place, but the thoughts had crept in at odd moments. Should he have done more for security? Taken her somewhere else? If the Jedi found her, would she do what he'd told her or would she keep silent out of some misplaced sense of loyalty? And even if she did cooperate with the Jedi, would they read her mind and discover that not all her memories with him are bad? Would her thoughts betray her? </p><p>Before he brought it up, he'd considered suggesting that he suppress the good part of her memories, block them away, to be more believable should she be captured. But she'd already been upset with the idea of giving him up in the first place. Maul's sense of necessity versus humanity is… skewed at best, but even he could figure that it would be cruel to leave her alone for weeks with nothing but fear to remember, just in case she ended up in Jedi hands. </p><p>Maul lands his ship with less than his normal finesse. He's exhausted after a relentless campaign of 3 weeks, followed by a battle that ended up with a frustrating lack of results. He can't remember the last time he slept. Or had food beyond a choked down ration bar. The dark side of the force allows him to push his body past what others could endure, but that doesn't mean there isn't a limit. Or an aftereffect. </p><p>All he can think about is his bed, and Dunèth with her soft body pressed against him, and sleep. </p><p>He's not surprised when she hesitates when she sees him. He's not really sure how he'd imagined she'd greet him, but he hadn't thought she'd fall into his arms, and she doesn't. </p><p>In fact she stays well out of reach, hovering anxiously when he enters the base. 25 days of absence and the comfort they'd built between them has worn off. She's back to her old patterns, looking to him for cues, uncertain if doing something or doing nothing is more likely to displease. Waiting for commands because that feels safest to her. </p><p>She holds herself tensely, hands clasped tightly together in that slave-gesture he hates to see, the way she was taught to greet her master. Hands clasped in front of her stomach, fingers curled together, slave brand on the back of her right hand clearly visible. <em>I submit</em>, it means. <em>I'm at your command. </em>It's a leftover nervous habit, or perhaps a self-soothing gesture. </p><p>He hates to see it, but he's had to learn not to draw attention to it. When she's already anxious, criticising the thing that historically made her safer is certainly not going to help. </p><p>He doesn't know how to communicate that he's not angry or irritated with her, only with the mess of this campaign, and he's too tired to do more than ignore her for now. He goes directly to his—their—room, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.</p><p>Dunèth follows, watching him anxiously from the doorway. </p><p>Maul extends a hand to her, trying to remember how to make his face relax; it feels like he's been scowling constantly lately, and that can't be helping. She startles a little when she realises what he wants. Finally ventures forward to make the contact. Her hand is so small in his own. </p><p>He lightly tugs her to sit onto the bed beside him and leans his shoulder against her. Engulfs her hand with both his own, as much to stop her clasping hers together again as to touch her. </p><p>Maul lets out a long breath, and it feels like he's been holding that once since he left. He stretches his spine, grunting when a vertebrae realigns with a pop, and then lets himself slump. He is beyond tired, all of a sudden. It's an effort not to lean his full weight sideways against Duneth.</p><p>After a moment she breathes out too, relaxes all at once. It's as if his touch somehow helps her orient herself, reminds her what treatment to expect from him. Maul feels a strange flush of warmth and affection at that. </p><p>She moves slowly, climbs up and kneels on the bed behind him, her knees framing his hips. He takes a deep breath, consciously relaxing his muscles. Forcing his reflexes to forget about battle and to remember this kind of touch. She slowly wraps her arms around his torso, and he feels her cheek warmly against the back of his neck. </p><p>Gods, she smells so good. </p><p>Maul has to make an effort not to slump back into her. </p><p>"This entire galaxy can go to hell," he summarises the past three weeks. </p><p>She tenses slightly, as if she's not sure if he wants her to leave, and he covers her hand with his own on his abdomen, adds, "not you."</p><p>She brushes her lips against the back of his head. Maul wants to tip them both over to the side and just fall asleep right there. </p><p>In fact—</p><p>She resists, keeping him upright by bracing her knee on that side. </p><p>"You will sleep better if you wash first," she says softly. As if sleep quality is ever on his mind. </p><p>"I could fall asleep right now. On the floor, if need be."</p><p>"...you will wake up feeling much better if you wash first?" she tries.</p><p>He resists the urge to tease, to ask her if she's saying he smells bad. It would only ratchet her anxiety back up. He's aware that he's not even remotely fresh, but she could never tell him so.  </p><p>Maul's mind goes to waking up without urgency, the way her body might be curled against his, breathing in sync with him-. It feels like far longer than three and a half weeks ago. The slow, warm touching he has so far always cut short in his urge to start the day and further his mission. He's cured of that urge, at least for the next few days; he likes the idea of lazy morning touches. She's not wrong that it will be nicer if he's not rank. </p><p>"Compelling point," he acknowledges, and gently peels her hands away from his body. He leans forward and shoves to his feet with effort. He's tired enough that his legs don't respond to him as smoothly as normally. Her hand is on his back, not pushing, but keeping him from falling back. </p><p>He tries not to think about how she's lightly helping him balance once he's upright. He doesn't need the help. He could make it to the fresher on his own. Of course he could. </p><p>He just doesn't <em>need </em>to, and he doesn't need to prove that he can. </p><p>Dunèth makes to leave him in the fresher, and he tightens his hand on her far hip. </p><p>"Stay with me?"</p><p>He isn't even really thinking about her help. He just doesn't want to let go of her anymore now he has her in his arms. Maybe some exhausted part of him is worried she'll go right back to her skittish distance if he lets go of her. </p><p>"Oh, I—I thought—" she's a little flustered all of a sudden. "T-thought you didn't want—"</p><p>She glances down to his lower body, and—right. That makes sense. He's never let her see his legs. Didn't like the idea of her seeing his prosthetics and where his body ends. </p><p>He can't bring himself to care now. She can see it all, she can see <em>him</em>. He's too tired to hold back from her. </p><p>Maul makes a dismissive sound and begins to remove his tunic. His right shoulder is stiff and sore. She helps him work the garment off his shoulders, and then, with a glance for permission, opens the wide belts that hold up his trousers and brace his midsection. He leans against the wall, one hand on her shoulder for balance as she kneels gracefully to help his feet out of the fabric. He isn't sure what he should be feeling, seeing her kneel at his feet. Her face is at hip height—once upon a time this would have been stirring. </p><p>It's not arousal he feels now, but something soft and vague and dangerous. </p><p>She lightly traces her palms over the outside of his legs as she rises to her feet, exploring and accepting in equal measures. Maul feels the gentleness of it punch him breathless. He takes her hands from his metal hips and places them on his waist instead, needing to breathe. </p><p>Dunèth keeps her hands where he placed them while he undoes the ties of her knitted outer layer and then moves straight to her tunic. She's a little shaky when he pushes both layers off her shoulders. He's never undressed her before. Come to think of it, he's never seen her fully naked; whatever touching they do is usually under her clothes and always under blankets. </p><p>Here, in the bright light of the fresher, she trembles under his touch, equal parts nerves and chill. Her skin is smooth and largely unmarked; the slave brand on her hand is the only visible mark of her past. Is that better or worse, he's wondered—to have so little evidence of what wounded you?</p><p>He knows her stretchy undergarment has a clasp on her back, so he tugs her against his chest, reaching both arms around her, and she gratefully pushes close, no longer quite so exposed. When he can't immediately feel how it works, he cranes to look over her shoulder a little so he can see what he's doing. She huffs quiet amusement against his chest, and doesn't break the contact. </p><p>She… she washes him. Takes a sponge and soap and—and Maul just stands there under the spray, exhausted and passive with it in a way he's never allowed himself in the presence of another sentient being. It feels good, the slow, repetitive circles on his skin, the way she gently guides him to turn under the spray. It's the least efficient way he's ever gotten clean, but by far the most pleasant. </p><p>At some point they're just standing under the spray, chest to chest, his hands idly stroking on the small of her back. He thinks he might be swaying a little. </p><p>The hot water shuts off, and Maul makes a disgruntled noise. He hadn't even noticed that Dunèth reached out to shut it off. </p><p>"Come on," she whispers, reaching for towels. "The bed will feel so good."</p><p>He hazily dries his torso while she kneels down to dry his legs, and he doesn't know what he feels, looking down on her like that. Doesn't even know if it's a good or a bad feeling. </p><p>The bed is softer than he remembers, and it feels like he's sinking into it. His exhausted brain produces the sensation of falling, endless falling, and Maul jerks himself back to awareness with a grunt. What if he dreams again? Hurts her?</p><p>"Y'should… sleep behind me…" he murmurs. "In case I... dream… bad..."</p><p>"All right," she agrees easily, sliding under the blankets behind him. "Can I hold you?"</p><p>Instead of answering he reaches behind himself and tugs her arm across his waist, feeling her body press up against his back. He vaguely thinks how nice it is to come home to this, to being welcomed and cared for. It's like bracing for a hard fall and landing on soft, spongy moss.</p><p>He wants to tell her—he's not exactly sure what he wants to tell her, but he can't manage words anymore anyway. He brings her hand up so he can press a kiss against her palm, and that's the last thing he knows. </p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There's a question on her lips, and it's been there for days. Ever since he returned. Even without feeling her in the force he'd be able to tell, the way she tenses and takes a breath, almost, <em>almost </em>asks, and then deflates again. </p><p>"Just say it," he murmurs when his curiosity overtakes his patience. He presses a kiss to that sensitive spot on the back of her neck. "Whatever it is. I won't be angry."</p><p>He at least has a good enough grip on his temper to promise that, these days. </p><p>She presses a little closer into his embrace in a way he knows means she believes him. It's very… he's not sure he knows the word for it. The first time he said something like that, she'd only tensed more. </p><p>Maul idly rubs his cheek against the short, soft fuzz of her hair. </p><p>"It's just—" he can feel her mind race. "I was wondering—"</p><p>"Mm?" </p><p>"What will you do, when all this is over?"</p><p>He kisses her neck, pleased she finally came out with it, while he considers the question. </p><p>He almost starts to say something about the probable next mission and how she will like the warmer climate on that planet when he realises that wouldn't have been such a big question to ask. She means <em>after</em>. After he's won.  </p><p>"I think..."</p><p>He grinds to a halt because when <em>will </em>he consider his mission to be over?  And has he ever spared a moment's thought to what might come after? No, because vengeance has been such an all consuming, nebulous goal that he's never really thought that he'd live to see the aftermath. The chance of him winning, whatever constitutes a win, is negligible. That realisation gives him an uneasy weight in his chest. </p><p>"Never really thought about after," he says finally. </p><p>Dunèth takes a surprised breath. </p><p>"I don't.. I don't understand. Why are you doing all this if not for an after?"</p><p>She tenses as if that has shot out of her before she could think the better of it. As if she fears he'll take it as criticism. Maul idly strokes his fingers along the line of her ribs, soothing. Letting her feel he's not offended.</p><p>"If I hadn't killed Draiven, wouldn't you want to take vengeance?"</p><p>She considers it for a few moments. Then she shuffles and turns over in his arms, her head on his shoulder. Her hand spreads out on his midriff. </p><p>"I would want him dead, so he couldn't hurt anybody else, and so… so that I could feel safe in the life I'd want to build after. So that he… that he wouldn't have power over me anymore." </p><p>He hums in acknowledgement. Her innocent question has made him uncomfortably aware of how much Sidious still controls his life, even years after being discarded by him. Sabotaging Sidious or not, Maul is still… still living the life the Sith intended for him, raised him for. </p><p>It's sobering to realise that he doesn't <em>know </em>any life other than that of vengeance and destruction. He's not sure he knows how to imagine an after. That doesn't feel like something he can say out loud. </p><p>"What does it look like? For you?"</p><p>She's silent for a while, and he can feel that she's trying to tiptoe around something, but he still isn't sure what or why. It strains his patience sometimes, this endless caution. As if he's a ticking charge and the least wrong word from her can set him off. </p><p>Self control is not a Sith trait. Maul has never in his life guarded his temper as carefully as he does around her. It's frustrating to still get this. </p><p>It became a little easier to handle when he heard her do the same thing with the Mando'ade. It's like she has to consider every possible outcome of saying something, and decide if she can handle all those options, before she can say it. He knows some of the Mando'ade think she's slow-witted—they can't tell how feverishly her mind works during conversations. Every word is as carefully considered as a holochess move. </p><p>"A little house by a lake," she says finally. "Somewhere I do not have to sleep under five blankets. Somewhere plants will grow. And I—not being beholden to anybody."</p><p>"I'm not sure if I would not get bored," he says with amusement, and there's a wave of relief from her that makes him think back over what he just said. It takes a moment to realise that he just put herself in her fantasy future. Is that what she'd been worried about? Assuming they'd be together for that future, in case that's not what he wants?</p><p>"W-we," she says, and there's a thrill of excitement underlying it, "we could go on travels. If you got bored."</p><p>"Yeah? Where would we go?" </p><p>She rubs her cheek against his shoulder, radiating pure pleasure at hearing him go along with this dream. Maul smiles a little. </p><p>"I've seen almost nothing of the galaxy," she muses with a tiny smile. "Surely there must be warm places, but where there's water. Places where they don't know what this is."</p><p>She holds up her right hand, the one with the ugly slave brand on the back of the hand. Maul doesn't have the heart to tell her that people might not recognise the specific brand, but slave marks as a concept are recognised the galaxy over. </p><p>He's considered offering to remove it. A carefully controlled burn with his lightsaber and immediately applied high-grade bacta would… well perhaps not make it look like it was never there. But certainly make it a lot less obvious. In this dream future of her, he'd hate the thought of walking around with her somewhere and people assuming she's his slave. </p><p>Could he even bring himself to go through with it? Perhaps if she was drugged senseless. </p><p>"I can think of a few places," he agrees. Some of them might even be peaceful enough to explore with her. If they go far enough out, there must be planets where they've never heard of him and he won't be greeted with terror or pre-emptive blaster fire.  </p><p> </p><p>It doesn't come up again, this dream of hers, and he is grateful that he doesn't have to choose between promising what he can't promise or denying her the fantasy. </p><p>That doesn't mean he forgets about it. That the image doesn't occasionally come up in his mind when he's flying his ship, or about to go into battle, or trying to get comfortable in a bedroll on a cold hard floor. It's such an achingly simple dream, so little to ask of the universe, all things considered. </p><p><em>A little house. Somewhere warm, where plants will grow</em>. </p><p>He's taken her from a desert planet to an ice world. Maul himself has been to places so green that a desert dweller like her would think them a simulation. Places where the rain came down in heavy, lukewarm sheets. It's so easy to picture her there. How she might laugh in delight and step out into the downpour, spreading her arms wide and letting herself get soaked to the skin.  </p><p>How he might peel her out of those soaked clothes, afterward, and how her kisses would taste of rain. </p><p> </p><p>As the weeks pass he grows less and less satisfied with relegating the idea to 'impossible fantasy'. She asks for so little. She doesn't even ask for this. </p><p>She shouldn't have to—it's not right that his mission keeps her from that life. She shouldn't have to spend her life in icy bunkers and dreary secret bases, waiting for the time he doesn't come back. He could probably… it would take some careful moving to keep it secret, but he could probably find her a place. </p><p>He doesn't know if there's an after for him. The odds aren't good. Every mission, every fight—he's good, he's not immortal. There might be a time he doesn't come back, and then what happens to her, waiting for him at the base? Would the Mandalorians be the slightest help to her? He doubts it, with how little regard most of them seem to hold her in. To them she's <em>laandur </em>- fragile, weak, easily scared. The opposite of what they appreciate in a woman. </p><p>That's assuming it's not the Mando'ade who betray him. </p><p>That's assuming that they—or Force forbid, Sidious—wouldn't use her against him. Maul doesn't know what he would do if her life was held in the balance, and he never wants to find out.</p><p>The more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Get her some safe place to live. Money to sustain herself. A free life, far from the hornet nest he is in the process of kicking. </p><p>If there is an after for him, he can join her there. If there is not, then at least he's given her that life.   </p><p> </p><p>It takes a few weeks to arrange it, via a series of agents who can't seem to memorise his face and inexplicably remember him as a kindly older Togruta. </p><p>The planet is on the outer rim, nowhere very interesting with nothing much to offer unless you like the fruit delicacies they specialise in there. It's not very developed, and hopefully plain enough to never become of strategic interest to anybody. The planet has a desert belt, flanked on both sides by plains and then tropical forests. </p><p>The house is in the zone between plains and tropical, surrounded by orchards, not far from a village. There's no lake, but a broad stream supplies water and power. There's a brewing shed and a porch covered in flowering vines. In the holo walkthrough he views it looks warm, inviting. </p><p>A warm place where plants will grow. Where a person might grow into herself. </p><p>According to the agent, it belongs to an old couple who plan to live in the cabin on the edge of the property, and would be happy to sell to somebody they could teach in exchange for some help with upkeep. That sounds too good to be true, so Maul sends an independent agent to verify the story, but it really does seem to be the case—not a lot of young people staying in the area, apparently. </p><p>He's been vaguely worried about dropping her into a life she knows nothing about; her life has not well-prepared her for self sufficiency. This sounds like it could work. </p><p>The whole process, agents and verifying and contracts and making sure it's all legal and true—costs a lot of money. Maul's been in the crime business for a while now, and it's probably the most gladly spent sum ever.</p><p> </p><p>He expected her to be happy. It's the biggest gift he can conceive of, a house, a <em>life</em>.</p><p>He expected her to be ecstatic. And at first, she was. </p><p>"You'll have a good life there. You'll be free."</p><p>Maul taught her to shield her mind, and she's grown reasonably competent at it. Without much feeling for the Force herself, it's not sophisticated, and unfortunately that means that the moment she thinks to shield, he is immediately aware that there's something she doesn't want him to see. </p><p>The mental discipline to not immediately go looking for it is hard won. </p><p>Her face doesn't lose its expression of joy, but he can feel doors shut in her mind.</p><p>"I won't go with you," he nods, confirming it. "I just want to make sure that you're safe, no matter what happens. That you can have that free life, in a place where things grow."</p><p>"Thank you," is what she says, but he can feel her internal struggle not to show her disappointment. She'd thought he would come with her. That they'd live in that beautiful place together. </p><p>It only occurs to him now, seeing her face, that it's a selfish thing he's done, in a way. If she's safe, if she's in that house where she could be happy, he doesn't have to concern himself with her during missions. He won't have to think about how his actions affect her. He'll be free of her, free to pursue his mission of revenge without thought or concern for anybody else. </p><p>He's gifting them both the freedom to live their lives to their own agenda. </p><p>He wish they could both be happier about it. </p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the knowledge that their time together is going to end soon, Maul spends extra time with her. He can tell it doesn't make her less sad, but she does appreciate it. She's curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder, her right hand on his chest.</p><p>He takes that hand and turns it gently so he can see the slave mark on the back of it. She doesn't move, but he can feel her coming to attention.</p><p>"We could remove it," he offers. It's been on his mind, the additional danger of sending her out into the world with a slave mark for all to see.</p><p>She lifts her head, startled.</p><p>"If I cauterise it with my lightsaber, and we immediately apply high grade bacta, the skin should heal smoothly."</p><p>He lets go of her hand without comment when she pulls it away and reflexively tucks it between their bodies, out of his reach.</p><p>"That sounds horrible."</p><p>"It is," he agrees. "But over quickly."</p><p>He drops the subject, not wanting her to feel pressured.</p><p> </p><p>She brings it up the next day.</p><p>"Do we have more of that injectable bacta?"</p><p>"Ah few injectors."</p><p>"I think if you—if I was high enough not to be afraid…"</p><p>"I'll still need to hold you down." He can't imagine anybody would not reflexively yank away their hand when the lightsaber came on.</p><p>She considers it for a moment.</p><p>"I think you—that's okay."</p><p>They do it later that day, before she has time to get too nervous about it.</p><p>She's upright on the bed, pleasantly hazy with the bacta injection. Maul gives her a gentle force push in the chest, and she flops onto her back. He's been trying to learn that, restrained Force use. It takes a lot of focus; all Sidious ever cared about was how to use his force abilities as a blunt object. It's much easier to shove her across a room than it is to give her a gentle push and then hold her down without hurting her or choking her.</p><p>Do the Jedi get lessons in this kind of thing, in tempering their powers, in being subtle? He's almost jealous of that.</p><p>He sits down by Dunèth's side, legs alongside her head, and after some thought, puts his near thigh on top of her upper arm so her forearm comes up between his knees. Even if she does struggle she's fairly well pinned like this with her hand accessible.</p><p>She looks up at him, all wide eyed and trusting. She's not afraid, even though Maul feels like she should be. He wants to.. Maul bends forward to press a kiss to the palm of her hand, and she jolts, her fingers twitching. He smiles a little. He uses the force to hold her hand completely immobile the way he'll need to, and traces his fingers along her palm, her wrist, to test it. She's ticklish for these kind of touches, but she can't budge his grip, only squirm.</p><p>It'll do.</p><p> </p><p>Actually doing it is worse than he could have anticipated. The procedure itself is simple enough, though he loathes the idea of causing her pain, even something like this she's agreed to. What makes it so much worse is that the bacta injection makes her all pliant and trusting. She gives him her hand with a hazy smile, and Maul hates this, <em>hates </em>it, that feeling like he's about to betray her.</p><p>He can't look at her face. Best to get it over with quickly.</p><p>He has the topical bacta ready on his other side, pins her hand and arm firmly, and ignites one side of his lightsaber with his right hand.</p><p>Then he can't bring himself to bring the two together. He begins to move his right hand and then freezes. Clenches his fingers around the hilt. What in the witch hells is wrong with him? Apart from in the course of revenge, Maul has never taken particular joy in hurting somebody, but he's also never hesitated. Not since he was very small, and had been taught the repercussions of refusing.</p><p>He grits his teeth, secures his grip on her limp hand, and—</p><p>The lightsaber is off. He doesn't remember turning it off, but he must have.</p><p>Duneth's eyes drift to his face. She's out of it, but not so much that she doesn't understand he is failing. Perhaps that's the issue, how she's just watching him, waiting for the pain.</p><p>"Sleep," he snaps, reaching out to turn her face away with a heavy force compulsion in his touch. She's gone instantly, and further than he intended, but he'll deal with that later.</p><p>He reignites his saber, steadies her hand, and ignores the queasy roil in his stomach. The thought of her waking up with her hand still the same, of having to explain he failed, would actually be worse than this. Probably. He's going to get it over with.</p><p>It feels like a very long time later when he finally manages it. He's soaked in cold sweat, tunics clinging to him uncomfortably. The actual burning is finished in seconds, just grazing the scarred skin. Despite the bacta injection and the heavy force sleep, her body twitches at his side. Maul is unspeakably glad that she's not awake.</p><p>The stench of scorched flesh makes his chest ache. His hearts feel out of sync somehow, and his ears are ringing. Maul shuts off the saber, tosses it away with more force than necessary, and immediately puts a pad soaked in bacta on top of the fresh burn.</p><p>He secures the bacta pad with a quick twist of gauze and then makes it to the fresher just in time to empty his stomach.</p><p>When he's rinsed his mouth and washed away the cold sweat with shaky hands, he turns up the ventilation as high as it can go. The supplies go off the bed and onto the nightstand, and then he gets on the bed with Duneth.</p><p>She's still deeply asleep. He's not sure if she can surface on her own. Maul figures it's better that she sleeps until the wound is at least well underway to being healed, so he leaves her.</p><p>He doesn't want her to see him in this state.</p><p>His hands feel numb. Everything feels far away. He's not sure why he's so exhausted, because the day is only half over.</p><p>He puts fresh bacta on the wound and then slowly, inexorably, feels himself sink to the mattress, as if his body is too heavy to keep upright any longer. It's a struggle to arrange his legs so he won't wake up with his spine screaming, and then he draws Duneth into the crook of his arm, her right hand on his chest, and feels exhaustion drag him down. He presses his face into the soft fuzz of her hair and lets it.</p><p>It feels twisted, to seek comfort in her nearness when he's the one who inflicted the pain. He doesn't understand it, but she's not awake to call him on it, so he allows himself for the moment.</p><p> </p><p>He can feel it when she wakes, his own mind instantly snapping into alertness.</p><p>"Oh," she says softly, a far too knowing look in her eyes. Maul does not squirm, but he feels tempted to slip out of the bed and avoid that gaze. "I'm sorry."</p><p>He makes a rough, inquiring noise, and she leans up enough to press a gentle kiss to his lips, her fingertips tracing his facial markings.</p><p>"You seem so strong all the time, I forget that you have your own hurts."</p><p>He has no idea what to say to that. He wants her to stop talking.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I should have thought—"</p><p>He kisses her hard, not as careful as he usually is. Wants to flood her senses and make her forget.</p><p>Tries to make himself forget, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please feed(back) your writer :-) </p><p>  <a href="https://primarybufferpanel.tumblr.com/">Come see me on tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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